


Sometimes There's God So Quickly

by AchillesPatroclus (deansamcas)



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deansamcas/pseuds/AchillesPatroclus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gods love Patroclus, and give him a love of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes There's God So Quickly

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's been a while, and extra sorry I appear to have abandoned my AU. I promise to return to it soon, only I began in the holidays and I have been so busy at school I have had to halt all production for the time being.
> 
> I had a moment of inspiration while in the shower this morning, and subsequently wrote this. I decided to include Patroclus' elusive and mysterious mother, and quite like the result.
> 
> Title taken from Tennessee Williams' 'A Streetcar Named Desire'.

Patroclus was a skeptic. 

It wasn't that he didn't believe in the god's existence, for that would be heresy liable to capital punishment - at least, it would to his mother. 

He knew of their power. They had made the world in all its entirety; every stone, every blade of grass, every star in the sky, and every hair on Patroclus' own head. Patroclus was, he supposed, indebted to them. And so, when he and his parents went to temples of worship, he made certain to say thank you very politely, for all that they had given him. 

Hera, he thanked for his mother and all of her affections. 

Athena, he thanked for his school master and tutors, and all the lessons he had learnt. 

Apollo, for the golden sun and the lyres of musicians, with their sweet, melodic notes that drifted through the air as if being carried by wind. 

Demeter, for the food that filled his belly; the saccharine juice of oranges that trickled down from the corners of his mouth in summertime. 

In spite of himself, Patroclus felt uncomfortable thanking the gods for all they had given him. He didn't like the assumption it implied that he saw them as having done it all specifically for him. Who was he, to the almighty gods?

He was curious and perhaps mildly suspicious; for if the gods did exist, why would they trouble themselves with the petty lives of humans?

He asked his mother as much, and she answered in her soothing, gentle tone that Patroclus took as truth above any other source. 

"The gods love us, my sweet, as I love you. We are all children of the gods. But this love is not without condition; you must strive to uphold it. Only those deserving of their love, through worship and homage, through respect and fear, and love in return, will receive it. Do all those things, my Patroclus, and they will reward you. Your life and its success is dependent on your reverence and unwavering faith.' 

Patroclus listened with care and deliberateness. He was certainly in awe of the gods: to have control of all the world was an unsurpassable feat. 

Patroclus considered himself happy, and he was content with the short life he had enjoyed thus far. He concluded that the gods must love him for something. 

 

~

 

Years later, Patroclus wasn't so sure. 

His mother had died while he was still young, leaving him only memories. He no longer worshipped the gods. They had long since abandoned him. What God, in love of a mortal, would strip them of their mother? A mother who had, so unconditionally adored and praised them? He wondered what she had done to deserve such a fate, and what he had done to be left behind.

If the gods existed, they were merciless. They were cruel and unfeeling; inhuman. Patroclus owed them nothing, for they had taken from him everything. Now, his home felt empty and cold, like the heart of the father who loathed him. Now, Patroclus was truly alone. 

He knew it was wrong to despise the gods so, but he cared not for damning himself to face their wrath. He had nothing more to lose. He cursed at them, spat at their effigies, refused to attend temples or celebrations of any kind. But they did nothing in retaliation. Not a single bolt of lighting nor divine arrow came shooting down from the heavens, and no illness befell him. It was as if Patroclus' punishment was living in and of itself. 

Eventually, he began to doubt the gods' existence altogether. Surely they had been there in the beginning, but perhaps now they had gone, leaving all the Earth and its contents behind. They were not gods of love. They were gods of cowardice. 

 

~

 

Patroclus didn't mind being wrong, not when it made him feel like this. And wrong he was. Such happiness, such completion was not an act of chance. It had to have been crafted by godly hands specifically for him. Each day he woke with renewed vigour, the once colourless world now awash with bright expression. He had been given this gift, and what he did to deserve it, Patroclus knew not. For his hatred of them, the gods had loved him, and given him love in return.

He found he could forgive. They had taken his mother, but perhaps it had been her time to leave. Perhaps she was happier there. Patroclus used to resent having been left behind. He wouldn't leave the earth for anything now. His happiness was here, and he would die only with it. For it. Now, his resentment gone, he was once again thankful. It was to one in particular that he directed his thanks. 

She, he thanked, for his sun and his moon, the stars above and the ground below. He thanked her for all he knew, his entire universe. He thanked her for having made him whole. 

 

Thetis, Patroclus thanked, for Achilles.


End file.
